


No Excuses

by tryslora



Series: All Our Yesterdays [25]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Father-Daughter Relationship, Injured Stiles, Light Angst, M/M, Past Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks after being gutted, and two weeks after Jackson has temporarily moved in, Stiles is trying to get shit done while his ex-husband and daughter argue the point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Excuses

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for prompt #73 - Excuses at fullmoon_ficlet. And yes, I'm trying to get back to this series so we can build the story through the eventual conclusion! As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

This is getting ridiculous. Stiles feels like he’s sixteen again as he carefully pulls his Macbook out of the neoprene sleeve and opens it on the table across his bed. He needs to type quietly, knowing that the distinctive tap of his fingers will alert werewolf ears in the next room.

It was easier to sneak onto porn sites when he was a teen than it is to do proper research now.

“Dad.”

Stiles slams the laptop closed. “Nik.”

She leans against the door, her arms crossed and lips pressed thinly together. “What do you think you’re doing?” There are footsteps coming, and Stiles knows it’s only a moment before Jackson is there as well.

It’s like having two well-meaning guardian angels who are trying to stifle his every move. They are driving him insane.

“Remember who the parent is here,” Stiles says, but Nikki cuts him off with a wave of her finger, slicing through the air then jabbing it toward him.

“My _Dad_ is in his _bed_ because he had some _stupid_ idea that only _three weeks_ after getting his guts sliced to ribbons that he could actually start _working out_ because my _Dad_ is a complete _idiot_.”

She has a point; it wasn’t Stiles’s best idea, but it’s not like the elliptical is that difficult and he needs to be able to outrun supernatural things if the Nemeton is active again.

“Nik, let me handle this.”

Nikki jabs Jackson in the chest on her way by. “Papa, do _not_ start arguing with him. I want you _both_ to still be around when I graduate and at the rate you’re going, you’ll either kill each other or he’s going to sacrifice himself. Talk sense into him, but no yelling.”

Stiles watches her leave, waits until the door is closed behind her. “Why does she try to parent me?”

“I remember you at that age,” Jackson says dryly. “I remember something about your father and curly fries. Not to mention keeping the entire supernatural world secret from him until you couldn’t anymore.”

“I wanted him to stay alive,” Stiles protests, but it’s all show. He understands. He knows the dynamic between single parent and only child and he knows that he has raised Nikki to be exactly who she is now. And he knows he wouldn’t have it any other way. He carefully opens the laptop and waits for it to resume. “So. Are you going to yell at me?”

“We’ve survived two weeks in the same house,” Jackson says quietly. “I don’t see a point in starting up again now. We can keep the truce going.”

“Mm.” Stiles angles the laptop away from where Jackson sits on the edge of the bed, tries to ignore the way it makes him have to twist in such a way that his stomach hurts. “So. How’s Amanda doing at home? Angie? Anything left that they need to send out for you?”

“Stiles.” Jackson’s hand catches his and Stiles tries not to think about how warm it feels, how _good_ it feels now that they are fighting less. Stiles hasn’t completely forgiven him, but he recognizes his own part in the trauma of the last decade. And he still loves Jackson, he recognizes it, and he is well aware how strangely comfortable it has been having him in the house for the last two weeks.

“No avoiding the subject, no excuses. What are you doing?”

“Researching.” Stiles tugs his hand back so he can turn the laptop around, showing the virtual cork board he has created. “I’ve narrowed our beast down to one of three species, based on type of attack, general size and depth of the wounds, and the times and dates. What I can’t tell you is why it’s happening. Beacon Hills has been peaceful, and we have alliances with other packs. If this is a were—and I am fairly certain it’s a were—they’d know that we are a safe place if they just talk to us. They know we have protection, that we’re not going to be taken over. And this doesn’t seem to be about taking anything over. It’s… almost randomly vicious. Like an animal lashing out and people are getting caught in the crossfire.”

Jackson leans in, shoulder warm and pressed against Stiles. “Is there a chance it’s something more animal than human?”

“Always, but I’m leaning toward human intelligence under the instinct. There have been signs.” 

“Signs?” Both of Jackson’s eyebrows go up. “What kind of signs indicate humanity in these attacks?”

“Not in the attacks.” Stiles knows he’s slipped as Jackson hones in the words. He tries to backpedal, but Jackson just looks at him. “Fine. I was out at the last attack site—”

“The one where you were gutted.” Jackson’s voice is low and too calm.

“The one where kids _died_ ,” Stiles corrects him. “And I found a charm. A talisman, and it’s druidic in nature and while I can’t identify the pack, it’s supposed to be protective. So whatever our creature is, it has at one time had a druid that wanted to protect it. Which implies a certain level of humanity.”

“You aren’t even supposed to be leaving this _house_ ,” Jackson points out. Stiles can see the muscle twitching in his jaw, the glare so familiar that it sends heat to places it really shouldn’t. “You shouldn’t be _at_ the attack site. Not in this condition.”

“I’m more fine than you think I am,” Stiles tells him, pushing at his chest. “You don’t need to sit on me to keep me in bed. Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I get tired easily. My gut aches, and I know I have limits. But we need to solve this thing before more people die. Before more of Nikki’s _friends_ die.” He lowers his voice, because there is one thing that has been driving him. “We need to solve this before she and Caleb think about how they can shut down the Nemeton. We need to make sure she doesn’t feel guilty enough to start looking past the attacks and into the reasons. Because once she gets an idea in her mind, there will be nothing we can do to stop her. And we need to get there first and figure out a safe solution.”

Jackson goes silent, the muscle in his jaw twitching, and for just a moment Stiles lifts his hand, thinking he could touch it, smooth the tension away like he did years ago. His hand hovers between them; Jackson drops his gaze to look at it, and Sitles lets it fall back to the bed.

“I’m not a suicidal idiot,” Stiles mutters.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Jackson meets his gaze. “We almost lost you. I’m not going to let that happen, and neither is Nikki.”

“Do you care?”

It’s a stupid question, and Stiles knows the answer, despite everything they’ve been through. But it still feels good to hear Jackson’s quiet response. “Yes, that was never the issue and you know it. So stop taking risks to make me prove it and let’s finish this without losing anyone. This pack has a history, and I don’t want to see it repeat.”

“You missed most of it.”

“I didn’t miss what happened to Lydia in the end.”

Stiles can’t meet his eyes after that, because that is _still_ his fault after all these years, and it always will be. Even through the healing, he knows he holds the weight and guilt of Lydia’s death, and the only other shoulders beneath it are her shade. “We need to go after whatever it is,” he says quietly. “We can’t just let it go on. I might be able to use the talisman to track it. If it was carrying it—if it _meant_ something—it’ll have a tie to the creature on the supernatural level. Tracking isn’t my best skill, but I can try.” In the end, Stiles has always been about protection and offense, rarely about the fiddly little skills that make most emissaries useful to their pack. But it served him well when the pack was forged by fire back in high school.

“ _We_ aren’t going after anything.” Jackson pushes away, coming to his feet, back straight and body language stiff. “I’ll call Scott; we’ll get a group together.”

“ _We_ are going. You could get Deaton to do this, but he’s not the pack emissary anymore, I am,” Stiles says plainly. “It’s my magic, it’s my tracking, it’s mine to follow. You _can’t_ do this without me. You know that’s how things work, Jackson.”

He carefully closes the laptop, nudging the table until it rolls away from the bed. It takes care to untangle his feet from the blankets, and Stiles feels like his gut is on fire when he moves. It no longer feels like the stitches will burst and spill his guts, but more like he’s done the world’s worst ab workout, when all he did was walk for twenty minutes on the elliptical. He places his feet on the floor with care and pauses before he pushes himself to standing and makes his way to meet Jackson in the center of the room.

“You may be back,” Stiles says, “but I’m still more pack than you are. I may be human—if druids really _are_ human—but I’m pack and I’ve been here all along. This is my fight, and neither you nor Nikki can tell me otherwise. I’m not going to rush in without backup—”

“Like you went looking and found the talisman,” Jackson says dryly.

“Call Scott.” It is taking everything Stiles has to remain upright at the moment. He no longer needs a cane to walk normally, but the exercise took what little energy and strength he had for the day. Jackson and Nikki are right—he needs to learn to work within his limits. But he also has to work within the timeframe being given by outside forces. He has no control over the attacks, and they need to end, which means he needs to keep going whether he wants to or not. “Call Scott,” Stiles repeats. “Then help me get the things together that I need for my tracking device. When Scott gets here, we’ll head out. Together. And you can be my guard dog and keep me safe.” He glances at the door, then looks up to where Nikki is probably listening. “The teenagers will stay here. Caleb can keep Nik company.”

“If we need everyone so we can cover more ground, the Hales can bring the kids over.”

Stiles can’t completely read what’s in Jackson’s expression there, but it almost seems like he _wants_ the small pack of girls here. There’s a longing there and it makes Stiles’s heart ache in uncomfortable ways. “Yeah, that’ll work,” he agrees quietly. “Get me my cane, and I’ll get to work on the tracking device. You go make phone calls. We can be ready to mobilize in an hour.”

Jackson doesn’t move, and Stiles tilts his head, trying to read the shift in his expressions. They stand there for a long moment before Jackson yanks him in, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tight. “If you get yourself killed,” Jackson mutters, “I am going to find a way to resurrect you so I can kill you myself. Then I’ll let Nikki do the same.”

Stiles has the urge to kiss him, to reassure him that it’s not going to happen. Because he can’t go anywhere, not and leave Nik behind. Besides, who would piss Jackson off on a daily basis if Stiles were gone? He doesn’t even let himself touch the idea that they _are_ pissing each other off on a daily basis, that they are _interacting_ as if it’s normal now. As if this is how things might be going forward. If he says something, if he thinks about it too closely, it will be real, and he’s not over the last decade yet. Instead he swallows hard and his voice is gruff as he replies, “Love you too, asshole. Now stop being an overprotective wolf and go get shit done.”

As soon as Jackson leaves, Stiles sinks back onto the bed and tries to gather his breath. No, he really isn’t ready for this. He’s not emotionally ready to deal with Jackson, and he’s not physically ready to deal with the threat to Beacon Hills. But he will do it, despite that, because no excuses—shit needs to get done. And that’s what has always kept Stiles going.

Someday he’ll get to live quietly again, but today is not that day.


End file.
